Fish Don't Have Pockets
by acid.glue234
Summary: Brittany Pierce always felt her emotions ten times more than anyone else around her. Although these strong feelings hindered her at times, she would have never fallen so hard for the love of her life without them. Two-shot. EDITED.
1. Part I

**Part I**

I remember that summer as being one of the most traumatizing of my life. When you're a teenager in love, nothing else around seems to matter but the person you see every time you close your eyes. Everything you see and eat and smell reminds you of this person without warning.

An overflow of emotions would always take over me when in this person's presence. Making someone other than yourself your everything is a very dangerous thing to do at such a tender age, but I couldn't help myself. I was trapped the very first time I looked into those deep brown eyes. And I hadn't been able to free myself from her spell since.

I suppose I've always felt things more than others. As a child I would have emotional breakdowns at the smallest of things. I was easily setoff; it was like I had a very sensitive trigger in my mind, and the slightest pull would have me on edge, tense, or down spiraling out of control.

When I was five and my dog died, I cried for days and prayed to God, wishing he could come back. When I was eight and my parents left for Africa on a photography expedition, I didn't speak a single word until they came home.

Whenever I'd see tragedies on the news; car crashes, serial killings, accidental deaths or suicides, I'd always become immensely depressed, locking myself in my room until I became too hungry and forgot about my issues long enough to eat something, then I'd go right back upstairs, slamming the door behind me.

But after all of these breakdowns, no matter how hard I tried, I was never able to take my eyes away from the news on the screen every time it came on the television set.

When my parents would leave for months at a time for tours in other continents for work, I'd always be sent to stay with my uncle at his lake house. The first couple of times I was sent there, I didn't speak a word or eat or even sleep. My eyes would burn from keeping them open all night, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

It wasn't until I was thirteen when I started talking to my uncle. He'd take me out on the lake he owned and teach me how to fish. I'd watch him silently as he explained how to hook the bait and leer the fish. My uncle owned a bait shop near the dock, and he'd always tell me the same thing before we went out on his little boat. "With the right bait, you're guaranteed to always catch the fish."

I was too curious to remain silent anymore. I didn't want my uncle to think I was stupid or incapable of speech. I doubt he had this thought about me, because he was always so accommodating, but I had too much on my mind to let this question vanish from my subconscious. "Is it because the fish have no other choice but to accept the bait since they have nowhere else to keep their food, Uncle Fred?"

I could tell my uncle was surprised to hear my voice, especially since I had never spoken before. He just stared at me for a few seconds with his mouth hanging open. He'd never even heard my voice before that day on the dock, and now that I think back, the expression on his face was pretty comical.

After processing my words, my uncle stroked his beard with a contemplative smile. "I'm sure they have somewhere to store it all."

Picking up a bail of worms, I shook my head and said matter-of-factly, "People store what they need in their pockets." I gestured to my shorts, picking up a worm to stuff it in the front pocket. Uncle Fred watched in amusement and didn't stop me as I explained, "Fish don't have pockets to store what they need, therefore they always go after the bait when they see it."

I was always a very observant child. Since I didn't talk much, I'd spend most of my time studying and watching things occur from afar. I was curious to say the least. And with the desire to understand everything, I'd ask my uncle questions about everything and anything. After giving my opinion that day, my uncle didn't argue with me, and I suppose it was because he was afraid I'd stop talking again. But instead, I talked nonstop, and that was the summer my uncle became my best friend.

Years passed and I'd help him in his bait shop. He even taught me how to make my very own fishing pole from scratch. I never had a parental figure in my life since my parents were pretty much always on the go. He'd help me with all my emotional issues such as crying whenever the news was on or shutting down when I discovered my parents weren't coming home for another three months or so.

I knew the way I felt wasn't normal. Sometimes I felt so alone I just wanted to jump off the dock and drift down into the lake, never to arise again.

Things got better as time progressed. When it wasn't summer, I went to school like every other kid. I had friends, but none of them were that close to me. Most of them were on my dance team at school and I'd only see them or talk to them when I had to. I didn't need them anyway, because my uncle was my best friend. He was all I needed in my life.

My parents would stick around for a month tops, but they'd always lock themselves in this dark room where they kept their pictures. I didn't really mind after awhile, because they were like strangers to me anyway.

I didn't even learn what their first names were until I was fifteen and had to forge their signature on a field trip permission slip to go to New York. I'd always wanted to live there, but at the time I only thought it was a silly dream. I never knew I'd end up living their with the love of my life one day.

I really thought I was getting better with controlling my emotions when the summer before I went off to college came. This was a naive thought, because instead I was blindsided by a business woman wearing a white button down shirt and a pencil skirt standing on the dock of the lake, watching the sunset with my uncle.

I had never seen her before in person, yet she looked so familiar. And that's when it hit me like a ton of bricks. She was the mystery woman whose framed picture had been sitting on my uncle's night table ever since he came back from his trip in California. He was only there to visit a long lost friend, but it seems he'd found love there as well and didn't even bother to tell me.

That was when I learned my uncle was selling his bait shop and half the lake. He was leaving me to live with this strange woman in California. When he broke the news, all I could do was hold my breath and close my eyes, willing away the nightmare I was having. Uncle Fredrick was my only friend, and he was leaving me.

As I pushed away the visions of him leaving, my uncle held me tight against his chest as he expressed his sorrow, admitting, "You do crazy things when you're in love."

Ignoring his words, I pushed off of him and closed my ears, screaming, _"La la la la!"_ at the top of my lungs while running down the dock and all the way home which happened to be a whole mile away. But I didn't stop. I didn't stop once to catch my breath, because my tears pushed me forward.

I didn't understand what my uncle meant about doing crazy things for love until I saw her for the first time. I was at a bridal boutique with my future aunt-in-law searching for a dress. My uncle had nagged me into going with her since she didn't know the town.

I was pretty much bribed into it, because he promised he'd have the wedding in Lima if I helped his fiancé, Julie was her name, plan the wedding. All of Julie's friends were in California and they were all busy business people as well. They were unable to come out to help, but they'd be there for the wedding.

I never understood my uncle's connection to Julie. Sure, she was pretty and had long, shiny black hair, but she was the total opposite of him. My uncle was tall and lanky with a scruffy beard. He wore overalls and the same blue baseball cap all the time to cover his bald head.

Julie was fairly young, at least younger than my uncle by about ten years. She was curvy, had thin lips, and bright hazel eyes. I would never admit this aloud, but I think the first time I saw Julie was also the first time I discovered I liked girls.

Attraction aside, it was on that day in the bridal boutique I first discovered what love was like. I'd already known what lust was, because I was undeniably infatuated with Julie, but once I saw Santana Lopez for the first time, my future aunt-in-law vanished from my mind in that way forever and ever.

I suspect I'd probably seen her before that day in school or in passing on the street, but something about the way she leaned across the counter with her elbows propped up and her chin in her palm made me weak at the knees. I don't think I fell for her at the very first sight though.

No, I was just intrigued by her pouty lips, long dark hair, and caramel skin. I didn't completely fall for Santana Lopez until she looked up and saw me watching her. I didn't look away, but my ears got so hot it felt like they were on fire. Santana didn't look away either, but the expression on her face was the most haunting sight I had ever seen.

She looked so tired as her eyes scanned my body in curiosity. She wasn't checking me out, that much I could tell, because her lips remained pressed together in a straight line and her eyes lacked emotion. But those eyes, I could see right through them and into her soul.

Our staring contest continued for another few seconds before she looked away abruptly. I never felt so startled in my life as I watched her from across the shop. It surprised me how quickly she broke eye contact, but no matter how stupid I felt, I continued to watch her as she walked from behind the register and into the back of the shop.

The way she walked was tense, like she knew I was watching her every move and needed to get away from my fiery gaze as soon as possible because it was burning holes through her clothes. I wish I could've been able to see through her, because if I did, maybe that summer wouldn't have ended up being the most emotionally traumatizing of my young life.

* * *

Santana Lopez was like a disease infecting my brain more and more each day. I couldn't stop thinking about the way those bold brown eyes entrapped me for the most intense five seconds of my life. I couldn't forget the way her features seemed to relax when she gazed at me from all the way across the boutique. For days all that occupied my mind was Santana; the girl who unknowingly stole my heart with just one look.

I needed a way to get my emotions out. I was literally going insane thinking about her. She was a mystery to me. I wanted to know everything about her; what she liked to do, where she was going to college, who she spent most of her time with. I had so many questions circulating through my mind, I needed to get it out somehow.

It was the sixth day after first seeing Santana that I sat at my desk, took out a lined sheet of paper and wrote poems and poems about her. The words wouldn't stop pouring out of my pencil and onto paper. I didn't understand what I was writing at the time, but when I'd read it over, I was surprised to see the most heart wrenching and passionate poetry I had ever seen. And I was the author of this work.

I had no idea I could be so passionate. All of this time I was holding in these building emotions and feelings without knowing writing could be a liable outlet. Whenever I wrote, I could breathe again, my mind would be clear and I felt free.

I wondered what other unknown talents I possessed other than dancing. In a rush, I went through my parents draws and scanned under their bed for anything useful. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I knew I wouldn't get into trouble for snooping. My parents were never around anyway. Actually, if I recall, that summer they were all the way on the other side of the earth in Beijing hunting down a panda or something.

After about five minutes of searching, I finally found what I was unknowingly looking for. Before my mother became a photographer, she was a painter. Both my parents were into all types of art; sketching, sculpting, painting, photography. When I found my mother's paint supplies and easel in the closet at the beginning of that summer, I had no idea it would later turn into my greatest passion, as well as my career.

At the time I found them, all I wanted was to draw Santana Lopez. Every inch of her features was burned into my brain forever, until the end of time. I needed to see her face again, outside of my mind. I brought all of the paint supplies into the basement and stayed down there all night, creating paintings after paintings of my love, Santana Lopez. I drew her profile, her full form as she walked away, the way she stood behind the counter with her chin in her palm. I painted her with so much color and precision, it was like she was really there, watching me as I admired my work.

I didn't come back out of the basement until the next morning. My clothes were a wreck, I had sticky art supplies in my hair and the red paint on my face looked like a murder scene. As I stood in the shower to wash it all off, I stared at the red paint as it flowed down the drain. It was like all the insanity I felt about Santana Lopez was finally washing away.

Then I felt calm again.

My serenity only lasted for a few hours, because that night was my uncle's engagement party. I dreaded the idea of going, because the last thing I wanted was to see all of my relatives and learn how successful they were in their endeavors.

I wasn't an envious person, but it seemed I was the only one in this world never moving forward. Even my stagnant uncle was making a change; a vast change by moving all the way to the west coast to live with his gorgeous wife in sunny California.

Most of my relatives left me alone during the night, probably because they didn't know who I was or who I belonged to. My uncle mentioned me in a heartfelt speech about what it meant to be family, and I was touched my his words, but if he was really my family, he wouldn't have been leaving me, all alone. I wasn't even going out of state for college. The farthest I was heading was a few miles, practically around the block to Ohio State University.

I sipped on water since I was too young to drink, especially around family. Although they didn't recognize me, I suppose they were smart enough to notice I wasn't old enough to drink.

But my eyes drooped like I was drunk because of the sleepless night I'd had downstairs painting in the basement. I remember wishing I had brought a sketchpad with me right when my eyes found the object of my thoughts. Once again, she was working, but as a server this time.

She strode, her head held high with a silver tray balanced on her left hand. Somewhere deep in my mind, I had the bizarre wish to be that crooked bow tie around her neck so I could smell the fragrance she used. Unlike the last time I saw her, her hair was up in a tight bun with a long strand of hair hanging out in front of her face.

I watched with my mouth agape in awe as she pursed her lips and blew the strand of hair to the side. I wanted to be that strand of hair so badly. If I could feel her breath on my skin, my life would be complete.

I didn't leave my table all night as I sat there alone and discreetly watched Santana Lopez as she served. I thought about asking her for one of the hors d'oeuvres on the platter she balanced on her favored hand, just to have a word with her. I wanted to know what voice went with the beautiful face of Santana Lopez. Was her voice smooth, rough, raspy, soft, squeaky? I didn't care how she sounded though, because I had already made up my mind that I'd love her forever unselfishly for the rest of my life if I had the chance.

* * *

If there was one thing I wasn't, it was bold. All my life I had been passive, letting people walk all over me as I watched the world with a quiet eye; as if I was just observing from far away and not really living or experiencing, just floating.

It wasn't until I saw Santana in the mall one day that I decided it was time for a new Brittany to make an appearance. I was tired of hiding in my basement, drawing pictures of the girl I loved, writing sonnets and proses and haikus about how I felt about her. If I wanted Santana Lopez in the way I had her in my private dreams, then I had to do something about it.

Throughout the weeks, Julie and I had been getting closer. I wasn't sure if it was because she wanted to get to know me better for my uncle's sake, or if she just enjoyed my company. Julie and I weren't that far apart in age.

I was eighteen that summer and Julie was twenty six, meaning we had a lot in common when it came to music and style. She was with me in the mall the day I spotted Santana Lopez selling fragrances and lotions at a stand outside of Lord & Taylor. Julie was shopping for suitcases for her honeymoon, and I was just there to get out of the house, because according to her, I was a very antisocial young lady.

Right before we entered the department store, I remember telling Julie I needed to use the bathroom, and without question, she believed me and went into the store, telling me to find her when I was finished. I wasn't going to the bathroom of course. My eyes were settled on Santana the whole time I told the lie. And as soon as Julie was in the store and out of sight, I made my way towards Santana's stand.

As I approached, it shocked me how calm I felt. It wasn't until Santana turned her head and watched as I walked that my heart began to start pumping and my lungs felt on fire from the heavy breathing I was desperately trying to control. The way her eyes found mind like it was second nature made me want to faint. I quickly fought the incredible urge to turn around, because if I would've bypassed her that day, I would have never forgiven myself. Santana Lopez was the cause of much heartache in my young life, but I would have never learned how to control my emotions if it wasn't for her.

Her eyes stayed on me as I unconvincingly studied the bottles of perfume on her stand. It only occurred to me then that Santana always seemed to be working whenever I saw her. At first, I had only assumed it was fate; one soul mindlessly seeking out the other. Like soulmates perhaps, but with Santana Lopez things were always deeper. Something even deeper than soulmates was what I found with Santana that summer.

"Is there something you're looking for in particular?"

Those were the first words I ever heard her speak. Ever since that day I was never able to get the tone and pitch of her voice out of my head. It didn't occur to me until years later that my thoughts would forever be in that voice for the rest of my life.

"You," I had whispered under my breath. I didn't say it loud enough for her to hear.

I wasn't _that_ bold.

To Santana, I hadn't yet responded, and she stared at the side of my face as I willed myself to keep my eyes on the lotions and bottles of soap and perfume.

"Well," she sighed, contemplative. "If you're looking for a fragrance, I highly recommend _Milk and Honey_. It's my favorite."

She was so close at that moment; I could smell that exact fragrance on her clothing. I subtly inhaled, and for the first time since approaching, I met her eyes. This time we were so close I could see each individual eyelash, as well as the way her chest heaved up and down slowly as she breathed.

"I'll take five," was my only response, because her expression and smell and voice was so overwhelming, I felt like I was going to throw up.

"Wow, really?" she said, surprised, looking at me like I lost my mind or made a mistake. "Maybe I should've said they were all my favorite." She was teasing; I knew it, because after her response came a chuckle, but I never got to see the smile on her lips. By the time I turned my head, she was already bagging my purchase.

I wanted to say something to her. It had been weeks since I first saw her, and I'd been waiting for a moment just like this to talk to her. It didn't matter what I said at this point. I just wanted her to remember me, and that wasn't going to happen unless I made an impression.

"I-I...I think," I stuttered pathetically, and when Santana looked up at me from where she was putting my perfumes in a box, something just snapped inside me. "Do y-you...I-I was, um...I-I-I-I." Those eyes. The way they studied me with such curiosity and thought made me outwardly shudder.

My head was reeling, my heart was beating hard in my chest, and my voice was caught in my throat. I was practically sweating through my clothes, so I quickly paid for my purchase and got as far away from Santana as possible. I felt her curious eyes on me the whole time I walked away, probably wondering who is this strange girl and what the hell is her problem?

Talk about a bad first impression.

* * *

Love was an odd thought back then. To me, it didn't exist until I found the object of my affection and desire, and might I add, my hungry sex drive. Love was just an illusion, and in my mind it didn't make sense unless Santana Lopez was part of it. For years I associated the illusion of love with the way I acted around Santana; the way she made me feel, the way her presence made me look at the world in a different way.

Everything I saw reminded me of love. The clouds in the sky would form into the shape of a heart as I walked, basking in the warm summer sun. Birds would chirp love songs as I awoke each morning. The sun would rise only for Santana Lopez, and I'd yearn to see her hair shine underneath the light of day.

I finally got my wish as I walked through the park on my way to the art supply store. I'd been painting so much, I had run out of materials. From about fifty yards away, sitting on a bench, was my beloved. It was strange seeing her there that day, because whenever I'd run into her before, she was always working and had such a serious expression upon her soft features.  
But today she looked different. Underneath the bright sun, Santana wore a smile as she watched a trio of kids, ranging from nine to thirteen, playing on the jungle gym. All three kids looked alike, and what was even more fascinating was that they all looked like Santana as well.

I later discovered she'd sit on that same bench at the end of the day everyday. Those were her siblings she'd watch with such bright eyes as they chased each other around the playground until they couldn't chase anymore. I'd watch her from across the park with so much adoration I thought my heart would implode a few times from how much love I felt for this girl.

There was something connecting us, and although our first conversation hadn't gone well, I wasn't going to give up that easily. There was just something about her; something about those eyes and the way they told an honest story. There was something about the way she'd flutter her eyelashes and lick her lips that drove me crazy in the best of ways.

* * *

It was one of the hottest days of the summer when I found myself sitting on the dock, dangling my legs over my uncle's lake. The sun was setting and I could faintly hear crickets chirping in the distance behind the tall stalks of grass. My eyes were closed as I basked in the lingering sunshine as it vanished behind the horizon.

That was the clearest my mind had been since seeing Santana at the mall a few days prior. Later I had concluded my strange behavior was the root of the panic attack building in my chest. By the time I got home, I wanted to explode from both humiliation and love. It didn't make sense. The only thing I could understand was the pad of paper in my hand as I sketched colorless pictures of Santana. Shades of black and gray covered the fifty pages of drawings I filled with images of Santana Lopez.

Footsteps snapped me out of my thoughts and continued to approach as I stared out into the lake, admiring the reflection of the fast appearing moon in the pink sky. "There must be thousands of fish lurking below with how quiet you're being," Uncle Fred said with a chuckle as he sat beside me.

Taking a deep breath, I responded, "Not anymore. You scared them all off." There was no denying I was still upset with his decision to leave me, but my hostility wasn't as brutal as before. Once I got to know Julie that summer, I didn't blame my uncle for going after her. She was one of a kind, that woman.

"Nothing a little bait can't fix," he assured me with a pat on the shoulder.

Although I was having a conversation with my uncle, my thoughts were somewhere else entirely. "Uncle Fred, how do you leer in something that's_not_ a fish?" I asked, looking up at the quickly darkening sky as we ventured into the evening. It was starting to get chilly for the first time in hours as a gust of wind flew by, shaking the trees in the distance.

"Bait," my uncle said calmly, shrugging his shoulders as if it's something everyone should learn as a kid growing up. "It doesn't have to be worms or shrimp or fruit. All depends on what you wanna catch."

What my uncle said that day stuck with me for a couple of days before I was struck with an epiphany. There was only one way to talk to Santana without going through another panic attack, but I needed bait in order to pull off my plan. My writings had been getting better and more passionate as the summer wore on. I would write short stories, poems, songs, diary entries. The only thing I had yet to conquer were love letters, and that was going to be the final piece to my lovesick puzzle.

Santana was the fish.

And the love letters were the bait.

* * *

_Santana,_

_When I was young, I didn't think love existed. It wasn't until I saw you that I learned illusions could be real. Just because we don't see it, it doesn't mean it's not out there somewhere. I see you everyday and tell myself that if something is strong enough, it could survive anything. I may be naive, but I think that something could be you and me._

_All I'm asking is for you to give love a chance. Love doesn't learn from us. We learn from love._

_Your admirer,_

_Boldness in blonde_

Leaving this letter on Santana's bench in the wee hours of the morning was one of the boldest things I'd ever do in my life. I must have bitten my nails all the way to the cuticle thinking over if this was a bad idea or not. After much pacing back and forth, as well as deep contemplation, I finally decided to leave it there and hope for the best.

The rest of the day I was in limbo, imagining what Santana would say or do once she read the letter. I kept having this feeling in the pit of my stomach, nagging me that this was a very bad idea. I couldn't wait it out any longer because I was only just driving myself insane. I had to see how she reacted.

Without even realizing how I got there, I found myself on the other side of the park, waiting for Santana Lopez and her three younger siblings to arrive like they always did at the same time everyday. They were later than usual that day, which almost tore me apart. My anxiety was on an extremely high level, and I needed something to quell my nervous energy. Since I had already bitten my nails all the way to the nub, I had no other choice but to chew apprehensively on my bottom lip until I tasted blood.

The sight of Santana was what made me stop. She was always the one to make me stop and stare like there was nothing else going on in the world. This earth could've been plummeting towards the sun, but if Santana and I were in the same vicinity, I would never know until I'm dead.

From where I stood, I could see the way her perfectly sculptured eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement when she first came across the envelope with her name on it. As she took a seat, her eyes suspiciously scanned the area, and when her eyes came this close to connecting with mine, I ducked behind a bush so she couldn't see me.

Peeking though the holes in the shrub, I witnessed with my very own eyes as Santana read the letter with intrigue. Although her eyes were wide, she didn't seem shocked or terrified like I thought she would. The bashful smile on her face as she closed the letter and put it into her bag told me she was actually flattered by my poetic words in the passionate letter I wrote her.

I was over the moon, floating on air, on cloud nine, as I walked home that evening with my hands in my pockets and a shy smile adorning my features. I whistled_ I Wanna Be Loved By You_ with hooded eyes as I sidled down the sidewalk, nodding to dog walkers and joggers who passed by, probably wondering if I was high.

My whole chest was bursting with emotion, and at that moment, I wished I could play the guitar, because if I could, I'd find Santana's window and serenade her all night long until she got tired of my endless love songs. I'd leave white roses on her porch step with red petals leading a path all the way back to my house, up the stairs and into my room where we'd make hot, passionate love until we could no longer feel our toes anymore, numb to the touch. I'd pay millions of dollars to hire a sky writer and make him confess my love for her in the sky for all to see.

I didn't think I could get any happier or fall even deeper in love, but a few days later when I passed Santana's bench to pick up more art supplies, my heart literally stopped when I saw a sealed envelope with the words _Boldness in blonde_ scrawled across it in a sharp script.

I had never moved so slow in my life as I hesitantly reached to pick it up as if it were a ticking time bomb, seconds away from exploding. But the only thing that exploded that day was my heart as I read her words.

_Boldness in blonde,_

_When I was young, I was told love was for the weak, feelings were for the disillusioned and emotions were just a distraction; a mere distraction from life. I was taught the exact opposite of what you believe now. I'm not sure if I believe in love, but I do believe in life._

_Won't you prove to me love is worth giving a chance? Or should I just focus on life? Life doesn't learn from us. We learn from life._

_The one you admire,_

_Santana_

After reading that, I just had to see her again. There was no doubt about it. She was everything I ever wanted without even realizing it. Her words stuck with me for hours. I read and reread the letter so many times it became implanted in my subconscious, and I had it memorized before the sun set that day.

I was able to recite her letter in my dreams, as well as my nightmares. Her words kept me strong during the conversation I had with my parents that night. To my annoyance, they wouldn't be able to come back for the wedding since they were still on contract and hadn't yet found a certain panda they needed to photograph for a popular wildlife magazine in Beijing, China. This kind of news would've had me on the ground throwing a tantrum as a child, but as I grew older I'd learned how to control those emotions. The discovery of my new talents made dealing with the sad news even easier, because now I had something to put my pain and grief into without hurting myself or throwing my body against the ground in agony.

I wrote a letter that night to get rid of the lonely ache I felt in my gut. The next morning, I left the note on Santana's bench, but not before kissing it farewell, and then I was off to the library for books about love and poetry and dreams and flowers; anything to suck up the emotions I had until I got a response from Santana.

The letters continued this way for two weeks before I realized this was even worse than my panic attack. I would read her words and feel exhilarated for all of two minutes until it was over. I had to see her, touch her, talk to her if I was really going to make her mine once and for all. I wouldn't stop sending her my letters, but I had already caught the fish, the next step was to reel it in.

I thought about all the places I had seen Santana throughout the beginning of that summer. There was the bridal boutique where I had first fallen in love. There was the mall where she managed her own station selling fragrances and body lotions. There was the restaurant that catered my uncle's engagement party where she served. And there was the park where she'd watch her younger siblings play everyday until six o'clock.

It occurred to me that Santana had seen me in all those places except the park and the restaurant. She would undoubtably put the pieces together and discover I was _Boldness in blonde_ if I approached her in the park. That only meant one thing.

I had to go back to the restaurant.

* * *

I can't really recall how I got Julie to accompany me to the restaurant Santana served at. Most of that night was sort of a blur because I was just so nervous about seeing Santana again from a closer distance and possibly getting the chance to speak to her again. The thing I feared the most wasn't Julie finding out about my hidden feelings; what had me shaking in my boots was the thought Santana would remember me as the abnormal girl who bought five bottles of her favorite scent, which I just so happened to be wearing that night.

The hostess of the restaurant led us to a table in the back when we first arrived, and although I wanted to find out which section Santana served, I had no other choice but to follow when Julie took my hand and began trailing after the hostess, dragging me along with her.

Even though Julie was only nine years older than me, she was like a motherly figure, or maybe a big sister would be a better description, because Julie would come over in the mornings before meeting up with the wedding planner to make me breakfast. She'd make sure I didn't spend my whole day in the basement, practically carrying me outside to get some fresh air, and she'd even ask if I was okay when I'd blankly stare out the window sometimes, lost in thought, thinking about Santana.

I never admitted to having Santana Lopez on my mind. Nobody knew about my fixation with her. Nobody knew how enamored I was from the very first glance before our eyes connected, then locked forever in my heart. Nobody knew, because I didn't tell them. This was more than a secret to me. I didn't really care if someone found out about my feelings. Actually, I wanted to shout out how I felt about her from atop the rooftops.

But instead I kept it to myself. I wasn't the most superstitious person in the world, but I didn't want to ruin my chances with Santana by discussing it with other individuals. Also, it was my business anyway.

Julie and I were halfway through our appetizers when I saw Santana waiting on the table right next to ours. Her back was turned to me when I first spotted her, but I knew it was Santana by the dip of her muscular calves, the way she held her head up high with pride, as well as her straight posture.

There was no denying my love was standing just a few feet away from me when my eyes focused on her beautiful brown hair tucked up into a bun. Again, only a single strand hung out of place in front of her face as she bowed her head to take a customer's order. After she'd finished writing the last dish down, she'd blow the strand of hair away and tuck it behind her ear when it became too unruly while walking away and disappearing into the kitchen.

There was no doubt I wanted to follow her after she went through the swinging kitchen doors, but I had to restrain myself and settle for just watching her serve other tables for the rest of the night.

Outside the restaurant, Julie had insisted she drive me back to my house, but I assured her I'd be okay walking home. Julie must've had a lot of faith in me, because she didn't question me once again and left for her car in the parking lot without a second thought. Standing innocently in front of the restaurant, I waited until Julie passed in her red convertible before heading back inside.

I sat on a stool at the bar as I waited. The place was beginning to die down as it got later and later. I pretended to ignore the reason I was sitting here, because the last thing I needed was another panic attack creeping up on me. Although I tried to trick myself, in the back of my mind I knew good and well why I was waiting here, or better yet, _who_ I was boldly waiting for.

The dirty blonde bartender with a mop of shaggy hair asked me a few times if I wanted anything to drink, but I always declined because I'd seen on the news what alcohol can do to people, and I wasn't about to become one of the hopeless cases I'd cry about for endless hours.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Lopez."

The words had come from the bartender, but my mind was more focused on the small figure who sat right beside me that night. She was so close, we might as well have been touching. Her thigh brushed against mine as she sat on the stool and propped an elbow on the bar counter with a sigh of exhaustion. A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of her exhale.

"Cut the small talk, Sam," she had teased, a lazy smile slowly spreading across her cheeks as she watched him work behind the counter. "Get me the usual."

Sam smirked, rolling his eyes as he dug underneath the counter and pulled out an empty glass. "You better be nice to me or I'll tell the boss you've been blackmailing me into giving alcohol to underaged girls."

I subtly watched from the corner of my eye as Santana bit her bottom lip and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "You're hinting at blackmail right now, doofus," she pointed out with a sly grin. "Either way it's a lose-lose situation." Santana was cleverly challenging him as she quirked an eyebrow in the bartender's direction. That night, I fell for her just a little bit harder.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Fine whatever," he chuckled, turning around to grab a bottle of liquor. Tipping the bottle into her empty glass, he paused and looked up at her, asking, "What's the magic word?"

"Seriously, Sam?" Santana scoffed in exasperation, chuckling to herself. When all Sam did was give her a playfully pointed look, Santana finally caved. "Please..." she whispered, poking out her bottom lip. And the expression on her face was so endearing, I never wanted to look away.

Without another word, Sam poured her drink and slid it across the counter to Santana before sending her a wink and heading off to take care of other customers. I sat rigid next to Santana, hoping she wouldn't see me, because my plan to reel her in was a lot easier in theory, but when you're going about your plan it's ten times harder to actually pull it off.

"Can you believe him?"

And I almost thought I was just hearing things, because Santana Lopez could not have been talking to me. That would've been absurd. But when I turned my head to test the realness in all of this, all I got was Santana looking at me over the rim of her glass with those dark, mysterious eyes; the eyes I had drawn so many pictures of that summer.

"College guys, they think they can do whatever the fuck they want."

Santana was smiling as she said this, so I knew she was more amused with the bartender than irritated. This was probably the most relaxed I had ever seen her, and I wasn't sure if it was because of the alcohol she was downing or the playful conversation she'd just had with Sam.

I really can't remember what I did after she addressed me, because all I could do was stare at the small beauty mark below her right eye.

Santana studied me for another second, like she was trying to figure something out. Her eyes lighting up in realization, she said, "Hey, you're the girl who bought all those perfumes a few weeks ago, right?"

I didn't know whether to be humiliated she remembered or flattered she remembered. All I could do was nod and awkwardly clear my throat, desperately holding back another panic attack.

"Who are you?" Santana asked out of the blue, setting her glass on the counter in front her. I wasn't really sure what she was asking, but I never got a chance to respond, because Santana started shaking her head with a light chuckle, saying, "Sorry, I always ask the strangest questions. What I meant was...I feel like I've seen you a lot recently, or that I've been randomly bumping into you...or maybe I'm just imagining things for some bizarre reason."

When all I did was give Santana a blank look, her lips spread into a crooked smile as she bopped herself on the forehead.

"Uh, sorry, I'm a rambler. But if you don't mind me asking, where did you go to high school?"

"I went to McKinley. I just recently graduated," I answered without a second thought. I hadn't even realized my lips were moving or that words were coming out. It felt so natural to talk to her once I cleared my mind and focused on Santana's dark, enchanting eyes.

Santana smiled even brighter when she heard this, and I wished I had my sketchpad with me so I could forever document this moment. "Oh my God, I'm so slow. Brittany Pierce, right? The dancer?"

When I'd first heard her say my name, I could have just died. It sounded so precious leaving Santana's lips. No one could ever say my name like that. I felt hot and cold at the same time. My body temperature was playing tricks on me because I was both frozen in place and sweating through my pores.

It occurred to me only milliseconds later that Santana Lopez, the love of my life, knew who I was. I'd always assumed I was just an outcast, a drifter, a wallflower, someone who blended in and kept to themselves because of my overly sensitive emotions.

I guess you could say Santana Lopez was considered an outcast at school as well. She knew lots of people in the choir and theatre arts, but when it came to actually making friends, we'd both never go the extra mile, deciding to keep our distance. I was on the WMHS dance team, but I never really thought that made me a dancer until Santana said it that night.

"That's me," I said shyly, because she was looking at me with such admiration it was really throwing me off.

"You are like...really good," she smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "I hope you're getting out of this cow town to make a name for yourself."

It wasn't like I never thought about going into a career of dance. I had, but I'd never been the competitive type. I got my feelings hurt too easily, and rejection definitely wasn't my best friend as a teenager. The people in that kind of business would've snapped me in half.

"I'm actually going to Ohio State." After I said this, Santana seemed disappointed, like I was selling myself short. To assure her it was fine, I just shrugged my shoulders. "My uncle's leaving me half of his lake anyway, so I suppose it's good I'm staying nearby."

Santana lifted a curious eyebrow, actually looking pleased with this information. And that was all I ever really wanted back then; her acceptance and approval. "A lake, huh? That's impressive."

"It's really relaxing in the evening, when the sun sets," I mentioned, wanting to further intrigue her. "And people also like fishing there, you know, for fish."

"I could use some relaxation," she sighed, shaking her head. "I've been working nonstop lately. You'd never believe me if I told you how many jobs I have."

I'd definitely believe her. I had been following her for the past five weeks, writing her love letters and dreaming about her consistently. I knew a lot of things about Santana that Santana didn't even know about herself.

"I'm saving up to go to New York," she whispered, as if it was this big secret. Santana shrugged her shoulders as she sipped her drink, saying, "Don't laugh when I tell you this, but I want to go there to make it big. You know, singing, acting...perhaps Broadway."

She seemed shy admitting this to me, but her honest admission made my heart flutter. Santana was trusting me with something she was hesitant to discuss. It made me feel like she was almost confiding in me.

"I would never laugh at something like that," I murmured softly, looking at her from out the corner of my eye. "That kinda drive takes hard work and dedication." Santana nodded her head in agreement, stifling a yawn at the very idea of hard work. "You know, if you ever have a day off or just want to relax, you should come by my uncle's lake. I work at the bait shop sometimes, so, you know..."

I winced at the end of my offer. I didn't want to come off sounding too desperate or eager. I was already far out of my comfort zone, the last thing I needed was for Santana Lopez of all people to laug in my face. If something like that happened, I would probably be so mortified, I'd bury myself alive.

But my beloved just nodded, smiling kindly at the nervous twitch at the corner of my lips. "Hmm, I just may take you up on that offer," she said smoothly, never breaking eye contact with me as she pushed her empty glass away and grabbed her bag. "Well, I'm beat. Long day, you know?"

"Totally." I nodded like I understood what she meant, but technically I had no idea. I had no job or responsibilities or younger siblings to look after. It was just me, myself and I.

"Maybe I'll see you around," Santana said, but it came out as more of a question. I really tried to, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from her as she got up from her stool, leaving a tip on the counter for the bartender. "Thanks for the company, Brittany Pierce. It was nice meeting you."

And with a wink she was gone.

* * *

I planned on going to the lake every evening until Santana Lopez showed up. I would just sit on the dock and wait for the sound of her flip-flops approaching from behind. I knew I was naive to think she'd actually show up. She barely knew me. All I was to her was Brittany Pierce the dancer. We weren't even friends and she still had no idea I was _Boldness in blonde_.

It was a Saturday, two days after I had first extended an invitation to Santana to visit my uncle's lake, when I heard those flip-flops flapping behind me. It really threw me off at first, because I wasn't expecting her to show up so soon. I wasn't expecting her to show up at all.

When I turned around to make sure it was really her, and that I wasn't just imagining things, I almost drooled at the sight of Santana. Her hair was in a single French braid that flowed over her left shoulder. She was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn't see the eyes I loved so much, but I knew they were somewhere behind her dark lenses. As she sat next to me, her warm bare shoulder grazed mine, making goosebumps arise on my tanned skin.

"Told you I'd take you up on that offer," Santana said teasingly, skipping a rock out onto the lake.

Looking down, I noticed she had a handful of them sitting on the other side of her. I watched quietly as she threw another one into the lake. "You did," I whispered, rubbing the back of my neck nervously as a deep blush appeared on my rosy cheeks.

It was silent between us for most of the evening. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, at least for me it wasn't. Santana actually seemed content as she watched the sunset. It was the calmest I had ever seen her. Her features were finally relaxed, her perfect posture was slumped back, and her eyes were clear and soft as she admired the ripples in the lake as a breeze drifted by.

It wasn't until the moon was out that Santana spoke again. "This all seems so surreal compared to how hectic my life is," she whispered, pursing her lips. It looked like she had more on her mind, so I remained silent, settling for just watching her think. "With three siblings and a single mom at home, I never get the chance to just breathe." Raising her face toward the sky, Santana took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Breathing is important," I murmured, trying to make a joke, because I didn't want Santana to be sad. She was always so serious and tense, but I liked it when she smiled. It made me smile.

Amused, Santana shook her head and chuckled. "You go that right," she agreed, looking down at the water below us. "It's a mystery how fish can live down there. You know, without being able to breathe."

"Sometimes I wish I was a fish," I admitted thoughtfully, shrugging my shoulders. "Their world seems so much less complicated juxtapose to ours..."

Santana nodded, skipping another rock across the lake with a quick flick of her wrist. We both watched as ripples in the water appeared, highlighted by the glow of the moon against the surface of the lake. "If that's the truth, then I wish I was a fish, too. My life is the definition of complicated," she sighed, biting her bottom lip in thought. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Santana sounded both shy and serious as she turned her head to look at me. "Anything," I breathed out, licking my lips as she gazed back at the lake with a faraway look in her eyes.

"The real reason I want to make it big so bad is to get back at my father," Santana confessed, releasing a heavy sigh. "He left my family when I was only twelve. I keep hoping that one day he'll see my name in bright lights and feel guilty for walking out on us." Santana paused for a second, lifting her hand to play with the end of her braid. "I'm sorry...I don't know why I'm telling you this. You're just easy to talk to, I guess."

The smile she gave me was so genuine I thought I was going to float away, my heart swollen with love. "I'm a good listener," I agreed with a curt nod, hoping she'd continue talking, because her voice was nice to listen to.

Santana nudged me in the side with her elbow, letting out a soft chuckle. "If only my mom would listen to me half as good as you do. But she's never around," she explained with a defeated huff. "It's hard to believe she even loves my siblings and I. It's like my dad took every loving emotion out of her when he left." Santana laughed dryly at this, but it was more of a bitter chuckle filled with sarcasm. "Shit, why am I complaining so much? This lake must have some type of truth serum in it that radiates some sort of chemical or something," she joked, trying to relieve some of the tension she created.

"I doubt that's true," I assured her, shaking my head in disagreement. When Santana gave me a confused expression, her eyebrows knitted with a frown, I elaborated, "I'm sure your mom loves you." When all I got was a look of disbelief, I quickly continued, hesitantly saying, "But either way, someone else's love will make up for it."

Santana smiled doubtfully, bowing her head. "Someone else's love?" She seemed unconvinced as she lifted a coy eyebrow.

"Totally," I answered easily, smiling reassuringly at her so she'd know I wasn't teasing.

"I'd find that easier to believe if you told me who," she joked, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head since now it was fully dark out, the stars quickly making an appearance.

"Me," I said matter-of-factly, trying to catch her eye. It was impossible for me to let Santana live her life with the thought nobody cared for her, or loved her. I thought I had made it perfectly clear in my letters how taken I was with her; how her smile made me swoon, or how the way she walked made me forget my own name. "Me, I love you," I repeated with more confidence.

Santana didn't seemed phased by my declaration of love. Her eyes were searching as she stared at me with a quirked eyebrow. I wasn't sure if she thought I was teasing or just saying so to make her feel better. Her expression was reluctant as she threw another rock into the lake. But this one didn't skip across the water, it downright plopped and splashed. "I'm sure you do," she mumbled under her breath with a small smile, obviously unconvinced.

"I do, honestly," I quickly reassured her, nodding furiously. I could no longer hold it in anymore. All the poems, love letters, and paintings in the world couldn't suppress the feelings I had for Santana.

Santana smiled awkwardly, searching my eyes to make sure I was serious. Her eyes narrowed on me suspiciously, the same way they did that day I panicked in the mall. "Brittany, I don't understand," she responded, looking back and forth between my eyes. "Tell me you're just joking."

Ever since the first day our eyes locked, I'd been waiting for the perfect moment to tell her how much I loved her, and that day on the dock felt like the perfect moment. "I love you," I whispered sincerely, biting my upper lip nervously. I needed her to know how serious I was, so with more confidence, I confessed, "I'm in love with you, Santana."

Those were the longest ten seconds of my life as Santana just stared at me, her eyes slowly widening in shock. Both our cheeks were beet red after my confession, but Santana did nothing but shake her head. "Brittany, I-I...are you serious?" she asked hesitantly, gulping so hard I could see her throat move.

All I could do was nod silently, hoping her shock was just an initial reaction. I had so much hope in my chest, I even thought she'd hug me or kiss me or tell me she loved me back.

Santana didn't do any of those things.

Scooting away from the edge of the dock, Santana pulled her legs into her chest and slowly stood up. "Brittany, listen to me," she said seriously, looking down at me, and the way she hovered above me was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. "You don't love me. You can't. We barely know each other. We've had like...two conversations," she rambled in exasperation, brushing multiple strands of hair behind her ear uncomfortably.

My heart was slowly breaking as she continued to speak, but I didn't want to listen. She was wrong about how I felt. How could she tell me I didn't love her? I had never felt this way about anyone before, and I had never been in love, meaning this had to be more than lust, infatuation, attraction, and fascination.

This had to be love.

I quickly stood up and found my footing, taking a determined step toward Santana. "But I do love you. I know I do," I cried hopelessly, wiping away a tear so she couldn't see how weak she made me. But If I thought I was weak before, it absolutely tore me apart as Santana raised her hands in defense and took an equal step away from me.

"Stop," she practically yelled, taking more steps back, and I couldn't follow. I loved her, so if she wanted me to stop following her, I would without argument. "Look, I'm sorry for raising my voice," she apologized after seeing the crushed look on my face. "I'm flattered, Brittany, really. I'm touched you see something in me that I obviously don't, but it's not love."

I hated the way she tried to manipulate my feelings into meaning something else. I knew how I felt about Santana. Not even Santana herself was going to dissuade me from my beliefs of love. My heart filled with anger for the first time in my life at the look on Santana's face. Yes, I was crushed, but you always feel something a million times worse when it's the one you love rejecting you, or hurting you.

Half passionate anger and half unrelenting love was an odd mixture that messed with my brain. Before I could even stop myself, I was yelling at Santana; yelling at the girl I promised myself I'd never hurt no matter what because I cared so much about her and it'd literally break me apart to see her saddened because of something I said. But I had momentarily lost focus and forgot those promises.

Holding back the tears, I steeled myself and locked eyes with her. "Because love is for the weak and disillusioned, right? A mere distraction from life, _right_?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow, but I felt bad for snapping at her after seeing the mortified look on her face.

Santana looked like she wanted to run and hide, but surprisingly she stood her ground as she gazed at me with wide, knowing eyes. I watched with a broken heart as she hissed, "Shit, shit, shit," over and over and over again under her breath.

I could just barely see her under the night sky, but the moon was bright enough to highlight the dismayed look in her eyes.

"You...y-you're Boldness in blonde. It was _you_," she sighed, rolling her eyes in frustration at herself. "I-I thought it was Sam the whole fucking time." She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head while silently berating herself. Santana's voice was muffled as she groaned, "Dammit, I'm such an idiot."

I couldn't believe my ears. The whole time I poured my heart out to her through those letters, Santana was under the impression it was that blonde bartender. I couldn't hold back the tears as Santana eyed me up and down with disgust, shaking her head. This wasn't the way I had expected things to go.

My heart couldn't take the pain and suffering Santana was causing with just one look. Thinking back now, I still don't know how I managed to survive the sinking feeling in my gut, her heart wrenching words, and the horrified expression on her face as I begged, "Please, Santana, just give me a chance. Give love a cha-"

"No," she said sternly, cutting me off mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, Brittany, but no. I don't feel the same way at all. You're just confused. You're the one who's disillusioned."

Her words cut through me like knives. I felt so numb all I could do was watch as she left me on the dock, drowning in my tears. I had to stop myself from jumping in the lake multiple times that night as I pathetically cried to myself, wishing Santana loved me back. I wasn't upset with myself for confessing my love for her because I had been needing to get that out. It was consuming me and strangling me to the point of death.

But at that moment, more than anything, I wished I could've been either brave or dumb enough to jump into the lake, because I wanted nothing more than to die. There was nothing else in this world for me now that Santana was gone.

Because when she left my world, I left the world as well.


	2. Part II

**A/N: **So, this story was uploaded a long time ago, then it was deleted, so I'm re-posting the second and final piece now. Thanks again for all of the feedback ;)

**Summary: **Brittany Pierce always felt her emotions ten times more than anyone else around her. Although these strong feelings hindered her at times, she would have never fallen so hard for the love of her life without them. Brittany looks back on the summer after graduation where she first saw and fell desperately in love with Santana Lopez. Through pain and heartache, Brittany teaches Santana how to love again while in return Santana teaches Brittany how to live again.

* * *

**Part II**

Describing my body and mind as an empty shell would've been an understatement, especially following the days right after that fateful night between Santana and I on the dock. I didn't even have to will myself to stop crying. I somehow managed on my own.

I felt so drained of life as I'd lay in my bed all day and paint in the basement at night. I didn't leave the house or bathe or even eat. I was a disheveled mess. The house reeked of spoiled milk coming from the fridge. My hair was in knots and my eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Clothes and magazines and garbage littered the floor of my bedroom. The whole house was in disarray, barely recognizable as I unknowingly trashed it more and more each day.

During the whole wreckage of my house, I hadn't stopped fantasizing about Santana for even a second. Everything reminded me of her anyway, so it was basically inevitable. My brain wouldn't cooperate with my words when I'd try to tell it to stop thinking about her. The more I willed her away, the faster and harder Santana's image fought itself into my subconscious.

It wasn't until the third day of my self-pity parade that Julie came by to check up on me, because apparently I had been MIA. I remember her knocking on the door multiple times as I just stared at it from across the room on the couch with half lidded eyes. I tried to call out to her, explaining the door was already open, but it'd only come out as a whisper. I was too emotionally drained to get up from the couch where my security blanket hid me and kept me safe from the depressing world out there.

Eventually, Julie had let herself in, gasping when she saw the mess in the living room, as well as the mess that was me hanging off the couch like a dead goat. After making sure I was okay, Julie took out her phone and immediately called my uncle. I was cuddled up against my future aunt-in-law's bosoms when my uncle came barging through the door with frantic eyes bulging out his head as he scanned the disheveled house.

All I could do was stare blankly into space as they took care of me. Julie was frightened by my behavior, but my uncle was more than aware of how I dealt with traumatic events. He didn't ask what had happened, because he probably just assumed I'd seen another tragedy on the news, thus sending me into a tailspin downward.

Julie was more than willing to stay with me when my uncle had to meet with lawyers and bankers regarding the lake and bait shop. I was barely aware of what was happening around me. All I knew was that Julie took care of me for longer than I could've imagined. She bathed me, fed me, talked to me even though I never responded or acknowledged her words. I could hear her voice, of course, but I never answered her when she'd ask me questions.

Julie tried multiple times to get my uncle to take me to a therapist. According to her, I was not well. Bipolar was the word Julie had used. I didn't know the word back then, neither had I ever heard of the condition before. But somewhere deep in my mind, I had laughed bitterly at the suggestion of myself having some type of ridiculous emotional disease. It wasn't until years later when I finally agreed to see a specialist that I learned Julie's diagnosis was spot on.

Julie very rarely left me home alone during those two weeks. But on the thirteenth day in particular, when she left me at the house to buy some groceries, I was met with one of the biggest, most heart-stopping surprises of my young life.

There had been a knock on the door at around noon. I stayed frozen on the couch, despondent. My hold on the comforter over my body had gotten tighter as my muscles tensed, but other than that slight flinch, I didn't move at all. Julie was always forgetting her key. She also seemed to forget we always kept the door unlocked. But after a few minutes, when I noticed the knocking continued every once in awhile, my brained finally snapped out of its reclusive fog, coming to the conclusion that Julie obviously wasn't at the door.

Someone else was.

I hadn't gotten off that couch in so long it felt unnatural to freely walk towards the hallway. My legs felt weak and my vision blurred briefly as all the blood rushed out of my head towards my feet. It wasn't an easy journey from the couch to the door. My muscles ached with each step I took, but if I wanted the persistent knocking to stop, I had to chase away the intruder.

If I had known the intruder standing on the other side of my door was none other than Santana Lopez, the girl who made me realize I had a heart, and then stomped carelessly on it all in matter of a month, then I would've definitely moved faster to answer the door. Of course I was angry, and of course I was suffering because of her rejection, but this was only because of how much I loved her. I wouldn't have been dealing with the heartbreak so tragically if I didn't need her in my life like a flower needs rain.

I wanted to smile so badly when I first saw her, but I had to push it back. Instead, I scowled at her through the screen door. Adding to my obvious hostility, I reached forward to lock the thin door separating us. Santana's regretful eyes followed my every move. I knew I probably looked terrible, but the self-conscious part of my mind didn't trigger until hours after our conversation. I was more concerned about what Santana Lopez was doing at my house thirteen days after she tore me apart with just the horrified expression on her face.

We stood like that for awhile; just staring silently at each other. Her eyes were soft and pleading while I tried to maintain my stoic, impassive posture. Santana Lopez wasn't going to break me this time. Not that easily. Thirteen days ago, I had exposed too much to her too soon and it probably overwhelmed her, so I remained unaffected by her presence, which probably threw her, but I didn't want to chase her off again.

I had unknowingly been wishing for her to show up here for days.

And my wish was finally granted.

I thought we were going to be standing there all day in silence until Santana awkwardly cleared her throat and tried to force a smile in my direction. But I kept my expression blank. I was known for wearing my heart on my sleeve which caused me a lot of pain over the years, but this time I had to fight the hurricane of emotions to maintain my indifference.

Santana bowed her head and gazed up at me through her long eyelashes when I didn't give her the response she was probably expecting. Dropping the charade, Santana pinched her lips together before releasing a sigh through her nose, saying, "I visited the lake everyday, waiting for you to show up." I watched with inquisitive eyes as she nervously rubbed the side of arm up and down. "Um, I wanted to see you. You're easy to talk to, I guess. And a good listener."

I didn't understand what she was saying. It didn't sound like an apology, or a declaration of love. She was just stating the facts. I wanted to shrug my shoulders indifferently, but I wasn't a rude person. My uncle didn't bring me up like that, so instead of tapping my foot impatiently, I waited.

"Your uncle told me where to find you," Santana explained, scratching the back of her neck anxiously. "I, um...wanted to apologize. The way I went off on you was totally uncalled for."

I nodded, silently accepting her apology. I already knew she hadn't meant those words about me being confused. What really had me reeling was the fact Santana didn't love me and perhaps never would. That thought was enough to make me depressed all over again.

I personally witnessed Santana slowly breakdown as she stood on the opposite side of my screen door. As she lifted her hand to rest it on the glass, I could see her thick walls crumbling down. I admired the lines on her palm through the window separating us before focusing my eyes back on her face. "That day on the dock, when you told me how you felt, I was caught by surprise," she murmured, biting her bottom lip. "We don't even know each other, yet you're declaring you are in love with me. You can't blame me for being a bit overwhelmed, Brittany."

I didn't blame her. I didn't blame her at all, and that was the issue. That was why I hadn't left the house in days. It was because I was to blame; me and my raging emotions.

"Please don't give me the silent treatment." The sadness in her eyes almost made me cave, but I couldn't give in to her. "I've been seeing you around town all summer, then you just strangely disappear because of me?" she whispered, her dark eyes focused on my blue ones. "I wasn't sure what happened to you. And that scared me."

I couldn't give in. I couldn't give in.

My heart wouldn't allow it. Santana clenched her jaw, dreading the next words she was about to speak. I could tell her admission was going to be honest by the way she blinked quicker than usual. I had been observing her behavior for most of the summer and learned this quirk meant she was holding something in she desperately wanted to say.

"I reread the letters," she told me, shutting her eyes to rid the desire to continue blinking. I found the quirk endearing, but it was obvious Santana found it a nuisance. "In the v-very first one you wrote me..."

Her stammering sentence trailed off as she nervously wiped her sweaty palms down her jean clad thighs. With a deep breath and a reassuring nod, Santana willed herself on, starting where she left off.

"You said I had to give love a chance in order for it to exist. I've never been loved by anyone like you love me and I guess it caught me off guard," she admitted, wringing her fingers together, but my attention was mostly focused on Santana's eyes as she spoke. Continuing to blink unknowingly, she swallowed and hesitantly stated, "I think it'd be better to not rush into anything and just be friends." She paused to look for my reaction, but I remained unreadable. "That way no one gets startled by random confessions," she joked anxiously, trying to lighten the mood.

Her honestly slowly mended my heart. I was beginning to feel lightheaded again, but in a good way. My heart hadn't pumped with so much vigor in such a long time; thirteen days to be exact. My knees felt weak, my eyes were tearing up, and I felt my throat begin to reopen my vocal passages. It had been so long since I had last spoken that I'd forgotten what my own voice sounded like. My emotions were finally starting to work again. And it was all because of the girl I loved standing on the other side of the screen door; the door I had originally used as protection against her forthcoming presence.

Santana no longer needed to force a smile in my direction; the one she was sending me now was more than genuine. "Since I'm an amateur at this, you have to be patient with me," she whispered, pushing against the knob on the locked screen door in front of her, signaling for me to open it.

Once I reached forward to unlock the only barrier keeping Santana from hurting me, something was released inside of me that I'd been carrying for a long, long time. Something that felt a lot like numbness.

"Friends?" Santana asked with a beaming smile, stepping into the doorway to stand directly in front of me.

Being friends with Santana was more than I could have ever asked for, so I willingly nodded in agreement. "Friends," I spoke for the first time in two weeks, thrusting my hand forward.

To my disbelief, Santana totally ignored my offered hand, and instead gathered me into a tight embrace. Inhaling a whiff of milk and honey, I never wanted to let go.

* * *

A friend was something I thought people only kept around in order to feel appreciated, in control, powerful. But that summer, after Santana came to my door, I learned friendship meant a lot more than keeping one's company when bored, or sharing deep dark secrets.

At least with Santana and I, friendship meant something else entirely. Our bond was unique; something you can only find once in lifetime. I learned from her, and she learned from me. The more time we spent together, the more we became balanced as one unit; two halves of the same person.

Our friendship didn't start off this way, of course. It was mostly awkward for the first couple of days. I was just remembering how to speak again while Santana was learning to keep her walls down long enough for me to actually enter.

We had to work together to make it work. It never occurred to me until days later why Santana was doing this for me. I was the one with the fixation. I was the one who was infatuated. Santana was merely the object of my affection.

It wasn't until we spent the whole entire day at the lake that I learned Santana, like myself, didn't have any friends. Sure, she was in many school activities, but the way she carried herself intimated many of the students in our school. What made Santana want me as a friend was the obvious fact I wasn't afraid her.

No matter how many times she got frustrated as I taught her how to fish, or how to attach the bait, I never once flinched in fear. All I was afraid of was another broken heart because I had just barely gotten through the first one.

If there was anything else but love that I felt for Santana Lopez, it was probably respect. She was a hard worker, and I'd see this everyday as I'd accompany her to work or help babysit her younger siblings who proved to be just as adorable as their older sister.

Santana and I would talk and laugh for hours on the phone. Sometimes we'd even forget the time and be on the phone until the wee hours of the morning. Those phone calls would mostly consist of silence as we listened to each other's breathing, only speaking to wonder if the other was still awake.

As the month of August began, Santana and I were literally inseparable. We did everything together for we had no other choice since we were basically conjoined at the hip. I would mistakenly find myself staring longingly at Santana at times, then I'd embarrassingly snap myself out of it before being caught. For awhile I actually thought Santana would never love me the way I loved her.

Maybe I was just incapable of being loved.

The best memory I have of that summer is the day it downpoured. Santana had wanted to stay inside and watch a movie, but I insisted we go outside and play in the rain. Santana never wanted to do any of the childish things I'd suggest. We were technically already adults, how would we look dancing in the rain?

But Santana had a soft spot for me that I couldn't see back then, and she'd always begrudgingly agree to my requests. We ended up getting soaked down to our undergarments in the storm. And as we ran back inside, hand in hand, our laughter filled the quiet corners of my house as we dried off.

Santana would hold me against her as we'd sit in front of the fireplace, drinking cans and cans of soda. I never would've guessed Santana could be so open and hilarious before meeting her, but I came to discover she was one of the best belchers known to man. And we'd lay in each others arms on the warm couch, telling stories, cracking jokes and laughing at the occasional burp that would escape our lips from all the soda we'd consume.

We shared everything. Santana told me about her dreams to go to New York, buy a huge studio apartment, and perform on Broadway one day. But Santana also shared other dreams with me; real dreams that she'd have at night about the future. Santana expressed to me that those dreams in particular would scare her into tears.

I didn't have any long term dreams or wishes or goals like Santana did. All I wanted was for her to love me. I'd share my insecurities about my parents with her, my fears of living alone and possibly dying alone one day. Till this day I've never told anyone but her the things I rawly expressed that summer, not even my uncle.

When I cried, Santana cried, and vice versa. Throughout the weeks, I learned being soulmates was much deeper than falling in love. Being soulmates was more of a spiritual connection between two people. They could understand each other with just one look. Distance was not even in their vocabulary, for spending only a few hours away from each other was just too much to bear. I knew for a fact Santana was my soulmate. I would never find anyone who knew my insides and outs like her no matter how hard, how long, or how far I searched.

I continued to paint every other night now. I was spending so much time with Santana I just didn't have the time like I used to. While around her, I'd come up with poetic verses about the way she smiled with such honesty, or how her laughter sounded like a crisp winter night. Whenever I thought about these things, a crease would form between my brow that Santana was always happy to smooth out for me. This was when I felt closest to her; when she was close enough to touch me, and when I was close enough to feel her.

If I could see the future, I still would've never predicted what happened on the night of August 17th. Santana was sleeping over my house that night, which was nothing new. Whenever Santana's mother didn't take the late shift at the hotel she cleaned, Santana would spend the night at my house just to get away from all the commotion and chaos occurring in her small home.

But this night was different from all the others, because this was the night Santana went downstairs into my basement and stumbled upon my multiple paintings of her. I was mortified when I found her down there staring at them. Her back was to me as I climbed down the rest of the steps cautiously.

I didn't know what to expect when I saw her face, but it definitely wasn't a pool of tears pouring down her cheeks. She wasn't mad, or humiliated, or taken aback. All I saw was a vulnerable girl looking between the paintings and me with so much adoration in her eyes it made my heart stop.

"B, these are beautiful," she whispered, gazing around the room in amazement. "Why didn't you tell me you could paint like this?"

I hadn't kept my talents hidden from her on purpose. Whenever I was with Santana, I merely focused on her and her only. What I could do, or my favorite thing in the world wasn't important to me when I was in Santana's presence, so I just never thought it was necessary mentioning.

Apparently I had thought wrong, because it seemed Santana was vastly enthralled with my artwork. And I knew this thought to be true when Santana turned to me and asked, "Is this really how you see me?"

Her eyes sparkled as she stood in front of the oil painting of the first time I saw Santana and forever fell in love with her. She was in the bridal boutique, her elbow propped on the table with her chin in hand.

The shading I chose for that portrait was exactly how I saw her that day through my eyes. Santana's beauty was even too strong for the darkness to take over during her worst of days, because I always saw the light for her.

If I remember correctly, I never got a chance to answer Santana as her lips collided heatedly with mine. I hadn't even seen it coming because my eyes were still focused on the oil painting when it happened.

Nevertheless, without a second thought, I kissed her back hungrily. It's unknown to me how our clothes became discarded on the floor, leaving us in the nude as we made hot, passionate love all night. The only sounds I could hear were our sweaty bodies thrusting together, searching for much needed pleasure and friction.

Santana howled in ecstasy as she clutched my wet hair, pleasurably pulling at the scalp. The sound of screaming, muffled groans, squeaks of naughty surprises, and guttural moans filled my basement as we continued well into the night, only taking a break to catch our breath before we'd continue again.

Santana was shameless in her nudity as she took control of my body, twisting into all types of flexible positions. She was a demanding force in the bedroom, or shall I say on the fluffy basement futon. It was impossible to count how many orgasms her quick, pumping fingers granted me that night. Our sexual marathon went on for hours and hours.

The rounds were endless seeing as we both wanted to dominate. My damp hair stuck to the sides of my face as I pointed my toes with the feeling of Santana's tongue in my most desired area. I throbbed for her touch after every orgasm she held me through. I wasn't ashamed to beg for more, and we never left each other unsatisfied for long before we caved again and again and again. Yes, we were exhausted, but our love and need for each other overshone that exhaustion and turned into the most erotic lovemaking I'd ever have in my years to come.

Young love is driven by a passion only the two in love can understand. The illusion of love was what kept us grounded, although I felt like I was floating on air. As I fell asleep with Santana, my love, in my arms, nothing in this scary world could harm me. I was unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.

I had finally caught my fish.

Or so I thought.

The problem was Santana, like the fish, had no pockets; she had nowhere to store all of my love, therefore it was all gone by the time I opened my eyes the next morning. My love practically never existed when she fled without my knowledge in the early morning sunlight.

Something inside me died forever when I awoke the next morning to discover a note on my pillow from Santana. The girl I had made love to all night long and well into the morning was gone, in her place, a small note. I wanted to tear it up after reading it. All that was written was an apology, saying it would've been too hard for her to have said goodbye after what happened the night before.

I wanted to crumble up the note and rip it to vicious shreds. It took all the willpower in the world not to throw on some clothes and run after her, but her note warned me not to come after her, for she would already be in New York City by the time I arose. The only thing that kept me moving, that gave me hope was the last line of her note, explaining she'd be back for me one day.

It didn't make sense to me. Nothing made sense. How could she leave me like that? Especially after what happened between us; the bond we created, the love we made for hours, fucking each other senseless until we lost feeling in our most intimate areas, unable to even stand let alone walk in the morning.

My whole body trembled as I tried to choke back the sobs violently erupting through my chest. I didn't even want to breathe, for I'd only get a whiff of Santana's scent from the sheets tangled around my bare legs. I probably laid in that bed for hours and cried silently, clutching the sheets over my mouth to quiet the sobs.

Every part of my body remained sore for the rest of the day. I couldn't even look myself in the mirror, not because I was ashamed, but because her markings were just too painful of a reminder. They weren't just on my neck. Hickeys and bruises and scratches covered random places all over my body from the violent sex we'd had that night.

I thought I'd been through every emotion imaginable and its symptoms. I was greatly mistaken. When I went through a loss, I stayed silent. When I witnessed something tragic, I'd scream my head off and cry my eyes out. The only thing I never felt was nausea. I associated this feeling with shame. I couldn't even make excuses for Santana. The girl I loved, still loved after what she did to me, had fucked me and left me all in a matter of hours. My whole being felt slimy and it made me sick.

I felt used.

But more than that, I had failed in my mission to teach Santana what love really meant. I wasn't even sure if I knew the definition of love anymore.

Because when I lost Santana, I became lost as well.

* * *

Instead of losing myself in my emotional turmoil like the last time Santana hurt me, I decided to distract myself with the wedding. I was comforted by the promise she'd be back soon for me, so that kept me going. Santana wasn't answering her calls or any of my text messages anyway, so the best thing to do was to trick my mind into thinking she was still around.

I tried to hate Santana for leaving me; leaving me naked and cold and lonely in our love nest to wake up and discover the most heart wrenching note of all time in her place. I tried to hate her for it all, but I'd just end up hating myself, for there was a piece of me in Santana that she took with her the morning she ran away to New York. I could only be mad at the part of my heart that followed Santana; that would continue to follow her to the end of this earth, until the end of time.

There was an unspoken agreement between Julie and I; I would help her with the final plans of the wedding as it quickly approached, and she would refrain from asking about the emotional roller coaster I insisted on staying on no matter how damaged I was at the end of the ride. I'd catch her concerned glances as we'd run errands around town, picking up her dress, consulting the wedding planner, choosing the perfect flowers for the ceremony, deciding what food would be served at the reception.

I was a real help to Julie. Since my uncle was barely around as he finished up business deals regarding the lake and the property surrounding it, I was his eyes and ears when picking out certain colors and patterns, or champagnes and wines. I knew everything about my uncle, for we'd talk for hours on end during my summer visits with him as a child. When we'd make our own fishing poles was when we talked the most, because we always had to stay super quiet as we sat in his boat in the humid summer air, waiting for the fish to take the bait.

No matter how distracted I tried to keep myself, Santana would always slip into my mind at the most random of times. Those times were always the hardest, because I was caught off guard, and I had to control my tears around Julie or she'd definitely piece together what I was suffering through.

Julie was a smart woman. She'd met Santana many times during the weeks we became friends. It was no secret how badly I had it for her, but Julie never addressed it or asked me about it. She knew how fragile my feelings were, and I was grateful to her for not asking. It would've been impossible for me to say aloud that my only friend in the world chose show business over me.

I didn't notice until I went back into my humid basement that I had neither written a poem nor painted a picture in days. Ever since Santana left there was just no use. I always had the ability to feel her in me, even when she was in a different vicinity, but it was different when she was miles away.

I could no longer feel her. And I think what hurt the most was that she'd left me when I was at my most vulnerable. She knew how I felt, how much love I put into each touch and caress of her smooth body; how languid I was in my motions, how gentle my lips traced the outline of her body, kissing her into euphoria.

But what was worst of all, when Santana left, I hadn't just lost the love of my life; I had lost my best friend.

* * *

On the 25th of August, exactly eight days after Santana left me alone in the basement tangled in a web of sheets, nothing there to wake up to but a simple note which tore me to pieces, was the day of my uncle's wedding. Things had been so hectic and rowdy the week prior, I hadn't had much time to really wallow in self-pity by thinking too deeply into my situation.

I was too busy helping my future aunt-in-law to think about the deep desire I felt in the pit of my stomach, the raw hole Santana left in my chest, or the monumental headache I tried to desperately ignore the morning of the wedding. I didn't think about the way Santana Lopez had cared for me as a friend, then as a lover soon after.

I tried to forget the way she'd look at me from the corner of her eye with a small smirk, making me assume she knew a secret I'd never learn unless I was her. I didn't think of the way she'd hold me against her chest when I thought about my parents at odd moments. And I definitely didn't think of the way I'd hold her when she cried for her mother to love her again.

I would whisper _I love you_ into her hair over and over again in a pleading tone, begging for her to understand that if her mother didn't love her, I'd always be there. I would just suppose my presence wasn't good enough for her, that I wasn't who she needed, but later that night, on the 25th of August, would be the night I discovered just how much I'd meant to Santana after all.

I stood proudly next to Julie as her maid of honor. My uncle was sharp in his white tuxedo. He looked incredibly different, barely recognizable without his blue baseball cap and overalls. His waning hairline was cleanly shaved, and he also looked as if he had built up some muscle during the months following up to this big day. His scruffy beard was even shaved off, which shocked me, because Uncle Fred had sworn along time ago that he'd never shave that beard for as long as he lived.

I guess you do crazy things when you're in love.

I admired the way my uncle's eyes shined as he gazed at Julie, his wife-to-be, with all the love in the world, not even bothered that his brother, my father, wasn't there to witness the best day of his life. He was just so focused on Julie that it didn't really matter. In their world, nothing else mattered but the love they shared.

I didn't blame my uncle for staring so awestruck at his bride. Julie was one of the most beautiful brides I had ever seen. Her dark black hair was tied up in a huge bun with sparkly pins holding it all together. Julie had very pretty hair, _a lot_ of pretty hair, and it amazed me how her hairdresser, who came all the way out from California, was able to fit it all into such a neat bun.

Julie's dress was even more jaw-dropping than I remembered seeing it at the bridal boutique that day. I suppose I was just so overwhelmed by the sight of Santana that I barely noticed what dress Julie had picked out. Nevertheless, she looked spectacular, both of them did, as they said, "I do." Smiling at each other like giddy teenagers in love, they slowly closed the distance between them for their first kiss as a married couple.

Although I was happy for them, it still pained me to think about losing my uncle and now Julie as well. Julie had become a sister to me over those last three months. I didn't want to see them leave. If it meant staying in Ohio forever to watch over the lake, I would, but only if Uncle Fredrick and Julie stayed with me. This, I knew, was a naive thought.

At the reception during the first dance, I sat alone with my elbow propped on the table. The reception was beautiful. It was held on my uncle's property on top of a hill overlooking the lake, just a few yards away from where the white tents were setup. Sparkling white lights shone across the tents like lightening bugs brightening the night sky.

It was the perfect night. Everything was perfect about the whole day. The marital ceremony, the weather, the food, the guests, the reception. Everything imaginable had run perfectly smooth; everything except the empty hole inside my chest that no one could fill but Santana Lopez.

She should have been there. She should have been there with me. And when I thought I had finally learned to hate her, there was a tap on my shoulder. I held my breath as I turned around, already knowing what to expect, or who to expect, because if I concentrated hard enough, I'd always be able to smell the scent of milk and honey from miles away for the rest of my life.

Before I had even felt her finger on my shoulder, I'd felt her presence. I was always able to feel Santana; it was both a gift and a curse. And that's why I hated her so, because how dare she show up here after what she did to me? How dare she show her face? But as soon as I gazed up into those brown, cautious eyes, my hatred completely disappeared. I doubted I'd ever felt hate in the first place, because back then I'd always confuse my emotions anyway.

My jaw clenched firmly as I took her in for the first time in days. For weeks, Santana and I had been inseparable. We hadn't spent more than a few hours away from each other at a time as we really started to get close. But seeing her now, after eight days of absence, it was like we were never apart. Santana looked stunning in her royal blue dress and heels. And as I stood, her height took me by surprise; now she was just an inch shorter than me.

We were equals now with the ability to look each other straight in the eyes. Santana gazed back at me with hooded eyes, silently begging me for my forgiveness, but that was impossible for me to hand over without an explanation to her bizarre actions.

My lips were pressed together in a straight line as I watch the internal struggle flowing through Santana's eyes. The soft melody of the waltz died in the background as Santana took my hand before I even had the chance to snatch it away.

Squeezing my fingers reassuringly, she whispered, "Dance with me?" When the corner of my lips twitched in surprise, a nervous habit, Santana's eyes followed my movement, unconsciously licking her lips. I almost forgave her at that exact moment, but just like before, I couldn't give in.

Without my agreement, Santana pulled me out on to the dance floor where most of my relatives danced in their own little world. The music recaptured my ears, and I naturally moved Santana and I along to the rhythm.

My arms wrapped around her waist and I sighed in content as she rested her head on my shoulder, hugging me around my neck as if she were afraid to let go. "Don't hate me, B," she whispered against my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I breathed in Santana's familiar scent and memorized it all over again.

"I could never hate you," I mumbled into her soft hair, kissing her temple so lightly it could've just been an illusion. "I just want to know why." That was all I had been wondering every second of the day for eight days. I needed an answer soon, or I would no doubt crumble.

"Did you read my note?" Santana asked softly, pulling back slightly to look into my eyes. I could see my own irritated expression in the reflection of her glassy eyes at the mention of that stupid note. Santana caught on to my dismay, explaining, "I'm sorry, B, but it would've just been too hard to say goodbye before I left."

"That's what I don't understand," I sighed in exasperation, shaking my head. "Why did you leave? Everything was perfect after that night. You and I, we connected on another level when we made love, and I know I wasn't the only one who felt it, so why?"

I shivered as Santana's hand trailed down my pale arm, slowly intertwining our fingers to calm my quickening heart beat. "After I saw those paintings in your basement, something struck me, and I realized you weren't destined to stay here and own your uncle's lake," she whispered, looking me straight in the eyes with all the seriousness in the world. "You're so talented, Brittany. And I know the perfect place you can be free and explore those talents." She paused, searching my teary eyes for something I wasn't sure of. "You belong in New York...with me."

Here was the girl of my dreams asking - no begging - me to forget about college, forget about the lake I grew up at, and run away with her to New York. The offer was more than tempting. It was all I ever wanted, but I was still hesitant to let Santana know this. So many questions were still buzzing around my mind, and I had to have them answered before I agreed to anything.

"I still don't understand why you left," I stated, pulling her close to me. Now that I had her in my arms, I never wanted to let go.

Santana smiled softly, like she knew something I didn't. "What I did, I did for us, B," she assured me, caressing my cheek in her hand. "The morning I left, I woke up to you sleeping so deeply I didn't want to disturb you."

A new song came on, and I tightened my grip around Santana's hips as we swayed back and forth to the music. The way her eyes gleamed, the way her lips twitched upward, the way her head tilted to the side. I was captured by it all as my eyes traced over the features of her face and rested on her lips as she continued to speak.

"That night I had a dream of us in New York together; you as an artist, me as an entertainer," Santana explained, twirling a strand of my blonde hair around her finger. "In the dream I ran off to New York with your oil painting, bought a studio apartment, and hung the picture above our very own fireplace. And, B, I had to make our dreams come true." When all I did was gaze at Santana in bewilderment, she nervously bit her bottom lip and stroked my skin with the pad of her thumb, saying, "Sorry, I'm a rambler."

Those familiar words were what finally made a smile break across my face. Santana always knew exactly what to do to make me smile. I tried to stop it. I tried to hold it back, but it was no use. The tears came anyway. They blurred my vision and pooled around the edges of my eyes. If only I blinked, then all of the tears would spill over and drench my cheeks.

Julie had spent nearly an hour on my make-up, and she would surely scold me for messing it up if she were here. Good thing for me, she was nowhere to be seen, so I finally blinked my eyes, allowing a lone tear to slide down my cheek and pass my jawline. Before I could comprehend what was happening, Santana was pulling me off the dance floor and out of the huge white tent that glowed from within.

As we ran hand in hand, our heels haphazardly flew off our feet. Laughter echoed through the night air, and I couldn't help but smile as our hair flowed in the warm breeze. Shuffling down the hill, barefoot and in love, the grass tickled our ankles. We shed our clothing all the way to moon-reflected lake, and at lightening speed we tore off our underwear on the dock, remaining unashamed in our birthday suits.

The water was freezing cold when we jumped in together, but when Santana's arms encircled my slim waist, my whole body filled with warmth. Her body molded perfectly behind mine as we peacefully floated in the water, the sound of music drowning out in the distance.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to," Santana apologized, her soft fingers tracing lazy circles over my tummy and around my bellybutton underneath the water. "I just wanted this to be a surprise. I guess I'm not very good at these romantic gestures, huh?"

I giggled, shaking my head in agreement before admitting, "I'd already forgiven you the moment I saw your face again." I could never stay mad at Santana for long. I'd almost forgotten why I was angry with her in the first place. She was impossible to hold a grudge against, especially when I'd look into her brown, puppy dog eyes.

"I love you so much," Santana whispered hotly, ghosting her lips over my ear. "As a friend, a lover, a soulmate, a person."

I turned my head so I could see Santana's beautiful face under the bright moonlight. Our lips connected immediately. And we kissed slowly and meaningfully as she held me tightly against her so I wouldn't drift away. "I'll love you always," I spoke against her lips. "As a friend, a lover, a soulmate, a person."

Santana chuckled at the repetition of her words, grazing her lips against my neck and up my earlobe. Her breath sent shivers up my spine as I bent my head back to further accommodate her heated actions. "In your first letter, you said if something is strong enough it can survive anything," Santana murmured, trailing one hand down my waist and the other up my shoulder. My breath hitched at how well she knew my body after just one night of making love. "Do you really believe that?"

I nodded against her cheek immediately, because I wouldn't have wrote it if I didn't mean it. "Of course I do," I whispered, turning my head to look at her, but my attention quickly snapped back to the water in front of me when I saw movement from the corner of my eye.

I gasped, clasping my hand over my mouth in astonishment as Santana's hand emerged from the water with the most exquisite ring I had ever seen. It could have been the gleam from the moon, or it could have simply just been my love for her, but whatever it was, the ring was magnificent as it sparkled under the stars.

I blinked slowly with wide eyes, speechless. Staring at the ring in disbelief, I almost questioned if this whole night was a dream, but I knew I wasn't seeing or imagining things when Santana took my hand from underneath the water and held the ring at the tip of my finger.

"I believe whatever you believe, B," Santana whispered lovingly. I was rendered speechless as I listened to her words and stared at the ring with shocked, wide eyes. "You once told me to give love a chance. I learned about love from you. You learned about life from me. We're a team, B. Forever."

My breath hitched as Santana kissed me on the back of my neck, sighing nervously with a shaky breath as she composed herself for her next words. Santana's strong arms were the only thing keeping me from sinking into the water, because my heart was beating so hard, I thought I would collapse on the spot.

"You and I can have a life together in New York. We can make love for hours and hours until we can no longer breathe. We can shout our love from off the rooftops. We can do anything," she concluded, slowly inching the ring up my finger. "But only if you promise to be with me through it all, B."

Tilting my head back to look at my beloved, I giggled at the nervous expression written across her features. "I promise," I murmured, staring longingly into her eyes before closing the distance between us.

My heart was beating hard in my ears as adrenaline pumped through my blood, leaving me feeling invincible. The sound was so loud inside my head as I kissed Santana, it surprised me how clear I could hear the crickets as they chirped in the distance, as well as the guests' laughter from the white tents.

Ignoring the surrounding noises, I concentrated on kissing Santana, my eyes rolling back as her tongue met mine. Holding each other tightly, our body's waded in the water, legs entangled together like vines in a jungle.

Santana chuckled bashfully to herself as she pecked me on the lips one more time before quickly nuzzling her nose into my neck for more warmth as she confessed, "I am so in love with you, Brittany."

Here she paused, letting her words sink in because she knew how long I had been waiting to hear those words. Quiet tears poured down my cheeks as I repeated her words in my head over and over again.

"I didn't think love existed in the beginning of the summer, but you proved me wrong," Santana told me, running her fingers through my wet hair. "B, you taught me how to love in the most passionate of ways."

My heart soared along with the clouds in the sky as Santana floated around my body to wade in front of me, still holding the ring at the tip of my finger. I ran my free hand through Santana's damp locks, smiling at how smooth and gentle each strand felt against the palm of my hand.

Staring into her eyes, I saw more than the girl I fell in love with that summer after graduation...I saw my eternal soulmate. The tears in her eyes matched mine as we listened to the sound of our heartbeats thumping in synchronization.

Looking up at me through her thick eyelashes, Santana took a deep breath to steady her voice, finally asking, "Brittany Pierce the painter, will you marry me?" She pinched her lips together and watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction.

I was so elated to finally hear the words I'd been dreaming about all summer, the best I could do was squeal in excitement, splashing the water around us as I screamed, "Yes, yes, yes!" As I threw my arms around Santana's neck and crashed our lips together, she somehow managed to slip the ring on my finger between our naked bodies.

* * *

That summer, I not only taught my beloved, Santana Lopez, how to love, but she taught me how to live in return. Together, we were more than strong enough to survive anything. I survived my emotional turmoil by going to therapy. Santana was there to hold my hand through every session. She helped me through my parents absences by opening her comforting arms and whispering words of affection into my ear.

Santana dealt with her mother's anguish by, what else, using confrontation. But her method seemed to snap her mother out of a six year long funk, reminding her that she has a family who desperately needs her love and care. And I was with Santana through it all.

In the fall, we moved to New York and into the studio apartment Santana had dreamt about the night we made love for the first time. It ended up being everything I ever wanted and more. Near a huge window that looked out onto the city, I had my very own working space with an endless load of art supplies. Santana really wasn't kidding when she said she'd been saving since she was twelve.

As soon as we unpacked everything from the moving van, Santana and I made sure to christen our new apartment the way we knew best. The whole day was spent in our new bed, rolling around in the sheets as we tried to top each other, screaming out each other's name as our fingers and tongues worked in and out to satisfy our needs, mumbling unintelligable words as we fell over the edge, whispering sweet nothings as we caught our breath to get ready for our next round of heated oblivion.

Let's just say the neighbors aren't our biggest fans.

With an inspiration in the form of Santana strolling around the apartment in nothing but her unabashed nudity, I painted and painted and painted until one day I hosted my very own gallery during the winter. Santana stood proudly by my side the whole night while the oil painting of her hung on the wall behind us with a big sign that read _NOT FOR AUCTION._

Santana didn't exactly make it big on Broadway, but I don't think she really cared much. One night as she sung at a bar, a talent scout had been sitting in the audience and was very impressed with her performance. He ended up being a television producer, so my love got her big break. And instead of her name in lights, Santana's face appeared all over the world.

So I guess the rest is history. I was just happy to have finally caught my fish.

And I wasn't afraid of losing her this time, because according to Santana, her pockets were more than full with my love. And the wedding rings on our finger was just another blissful reminder.

_The End._


End file.
